


Home

by leere



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, The Holiday AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: Dan Howell's having a month-long quarter life crisis. His roommate, Mark, isn't much help, too concerned with video games and getting laid. An ocean over, Jack's at a cross roads. In his same apartment building, a lonely Phil is doubting where he's going in life. What happens when Dan and Jack switch homes, and Jack ends up stuck in a too-small apartment with Mark, while Dan quickly develops a crush on his gentle, plant-growing neighbour? The Holiday AU.





	1. The Bar

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever YouTube RPF fic, although I've been watching these people for...a very long time lol. It's also my first chaptered fic in over three years. Let's just hope I finish this one instead of abandoning it like all my others lmao.
> 
> Brief disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and I don't own anyone in this fic. I'm not profiting off this, it's strictly for fun. Nothing in this is true (except that Mark can't dance and Dan's an angsty bitch). Please respect the guys and their irl significant others!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, featured in this chapter are drunk Willam Belli (my actual fav), and Sexuality 101 with Shane Dawson. I don't even watch Shane that much, but I was trying to figure out who, of all the YouTubers I know of, would be at a gay bar, and he came to mind...hope you enjoy

Something's in the way when Mark tries to open his front door.

Something heavy and British.

"Dan, come on." Mark shoves at the door, which elicits pained grunts from his roommate. "Dude, fucking move."

There's no response.

Mark shoves at the door, thinking he can squeeze himself through the gap, step over his friend, and not have to bother coaxing him into moving - but it won't budge. "Can you try to be a little more considerate about where you have your weekly existential crisises? In front of the front door is a really inconvenient place."

"The carpet's softest here," the heavy and British something grumbles in a very familiar, obnoxiously posh voice, but Dan gets up anyway, and Mark steps into their apartment.

"You okay?" he asks, trying to sound concerned but landing on indifferent. Dan's funks are so common these days that he's stopped genuinely caring, as shitty as that sounds. He locks the door and goes to the kitchen for a snack, knowing Dan will follow.

Dan trails after him like a sad emo giraffe. "No."

"What happened?" Mark goes into the cabinet for some ramen. He waves the pack at his roommate, silently asking if he wants one too, and Dan nods. Mark grabs a second pack and thinks to himself, _Guess I'll have to play therapist and cook. What can I say? I'm multi-talented._

"I don't want to be a lawyer," Dan says, rubbing at his eyes like a child. It's sort of pathetic. "I really don't want to."

Mark gives him his best sympathetic face, but when he speaks, his words are blunt. "Then you shouldn't be a law student. Switch your major, dude. Not that hard."

"I know, I know, I've just put so much into it already." Dan sits at the table, rather heavily. "Feels like a waste to quit so far in."

Mark's putting water on the kettle. He glances over to his bitter British buddy, who's got his head in his hands. "Talk to one of the counselors. Ask for advice."

"You know when you just - don't want to deal with something, but you know you've got to, or it'll bite you in the ass? That's how this is."

Mark goes over to sit across from Dan. He breathes in heavily, then forces himself to relax his shoulders. He rolls his neck until he hears it crack, and then he takes a moment to regard his slumped-over friend. Finally, he says, "Wanna get wasted?"

* * *

Dan's technically not legally allowed to drink yet - at least by American laws. He'd been nineteen when he moved out here, and he'd already been drinking and partying rather heavily for a year. Mark had just turned twenty-one at the time, and he'd only just begun his alcohol-related adventures.

Now, nearly two years later, Mark's twenty-two and Dan's twenty, both about to turn a year older once June hits. They regularly drank a beer together during a video game session, and Mark never thought twice about it.

But then they tried to get into a local bar.

"ID?" the bouncer asks, looking up at Dan warily. The guy's well over 200 pounds of pure muscle, but he's a tad shorter than Mark, who's already on the shorter side, which clearly means he's threatened by Dan's towering height. Maybe he's seen giraffes fighting before, on Discovery Channel. Giraffe fights are surprisingly violent. They just flail their necks around, but the effects are devastating.

Mark hands him his own, without a second thought. The bouncer takes it, looks over it, then hands it back. He reaches a hand out to Dan, expectant.

Awkwardly, Dan fishes out his wallet, opening it with trembling fingers before extracting his driver's license. The bouncer takes it, and gives Dan a look. He's clearly baffled as to why someone would willingly show their actual license if they're underage. He hands it back.

"Sorry, kid," the guy says, and then he's waving the next people in line up.

"Son of a bitch," Dan says, as him and Mark walk away. "We're fucking stupid. Why the bloody hell didn't we think about laws before we tried to get my underage ass into a club? Fuck. Can you believe-"

He looks over at Mark mid-rant, and he stops, because Mark's got his thinking face on.

"What?" Dan asks cautiously.

Mark grins deviously. "We're gonna try again."

"What are you talking about? We can't go back to that bar!"

"We're not gonna." They reach their parking spot, and Mark starts fishing around in his pocket for his keys.

"Mark, do you know how far away the next bar is? We're not burning gas just to get drunk two towns over."

"Guess that means we have to go to the other bar in the area."

Dan laughs. "It's a gay bar, Mark, don't be stupid-"

Mark actually winks at him as they climb into their car.

He's serious. Of course he's serious.

Dan closes his eyes and rubs at his temples as the car starts up. "How would we even get in? I'm sure they won't let me in there either."

"I know someone who works there. I think he works on Thursday nights. He'll let us in."

* * *

Mark's friend is named Willam, and he's a drag queen. He's very funny, very friendly, and very loud.

"Mark, you saucy motherfucker! How the fuck are you?" Willam says by way of greeting, giving him a hug that smooshes his face into Willam's sparkly bosom. He sees Dan and quirks an already impossibly high eyebrow even higher. "Ooh, who's your friend?"

"Name's Dan," says the Brit, awkwardly holding out his hand.

Willam takes it in his own manicured palm. His fake nails are an obnoxious neon pink, and they stab into Dan's hand. "Well aren't you just a cool glass of British water? Or should I say hot, sweet tea? What brings you to America, hon, the good food or the fact that our men are actually attractive?"

"He's lived here for about two years now, actually," Mark says before Dan has a chance to respond. "He came as part of a school exchange program thingy."

"I'm certainly not here for the men," Dan says, mildly offended that Willam's insinuating that British men are ugly.

Willam reads that wrong, and suddenly looks genuinely horrifed. "Oh, God, Mark, did you seriously bring a _straight_ into a gay bar? This violates every rule in the homo handbook! I'm _this_ close to booting you out of my fan club. We can't have straight sympathizers in my fan club!"

Dan vaguely knows Willam's kidding, but people are looking and his anxiety's rising steadily. He's burning up inside his parka and skinny jeans. Too hot, too much. He wants to go home and crawl in bed.

Mark glances at Dan and, like the intuitive bastard he is, instantly knows what's going on. He puts a hand on Willam's shoulder and leads him away, so they can speak in private.

"Listen, Willam. Here's the deal. Regardless of who's straight and who's not, my friend's depressed, and the other club wouldn't let him in, so this is his only chance to get shitfaced. We'll get drunk, then get home. Cool?"

Willam rolls his eyes. "Fine. Only 'cause you're a doll. But if he starts getting all straight on us, I'm gonna have to kick him out. This is a gay club, not a hetero rodeo. If he so much as says the word football, he's gone. Okay?"

Mark smiles despite himself. "Okay. Thanks Willam."

"No problem, babe." He goes over to Dan, high heels clicking on the linoleum floor, and grabs him by the wrist. "Come on, you. Time to get your red-coat wearing ass drunk out of your mind." He drags him through the crowd and towards the bar, Mark following. Dan frowns at the British jokes, and Willam catches him. "Hey," he yells over the music, "don't give me that look. I know my world history. They don't serve tea at this bar, by the way, so don't ask."

Willam's in a mood, so even as they sit, and Mark flags down the bartender, he's wailing on Dan.

"Hey, are Queen Elizabeth's tits as saggy in real life as they are in pictures?"

Dan opens his mouth, unsure how to respond. He wants to defend the poor old lady, yet he also isn't sure how serious Willam is and if he should bother. Fortunately, he doesn't have to think further about it, because Willam's going on again.

"So glad I don't actually have tits." He's looking down at himself, giving himself an unflattering double chin. Suddenly, he reaches into his blouse and yanks out one of his fake boobs. He proceeds to wave it in Dan's face, who, naturally, flinches back. "See, I buy this shit on the fucking internet. These aren't real. This way, when I'm older, I'll have a fifty-year-old face with twenty-year-old tits! Smart, right? What can I say? I'm a fuckin' genius. It's one of my many talents. I'm very talented, you know. In many aspects. Dick sucking being one. You single, hun?"

"Willam, I think you're freaking him out," Mark says, even though he's trying not to grin. Willam's antics have always made him laugh.

"Sorry," Willam says, although it doesn't sound very genuine. He spins in his barstool, before something catches his eye. "I'll be back," he says, "gotta go, bye."

Then he's off and out of sight, disappearing into the crowd of dancing men.

"Well, he's, uh - special, isn't he?"

"The specialist," Mark agrees, waving at the bartender. "The most wonderful thing about Willams is, he's the only one."

"Yeah." Dan smiles at the bartender when he comes over. "Hello, yes, do you have anything British, by any chance?"

Mark sees the bartender's confusion and quickly says, "Four shots of Jameson, please."

The bartender nods and walks away, giving Dan a look.

"That's Irish," Dan pouts. "And I hate whiskey."

"Tough titty," Mark replies. "Drink up, motherfucker. Let's get shit faced."

Two drinks in, two guys approach them. They're both attractive young white guys with pretty blue eyes and reddish brownish hair. If their facial structures weren't so different, they'd look like brothers.

"Hey," the one with shaggy hair says. "I'm Shane."

"Joey," the other one says. He points a manicured finger at the seat to Dan's right. "Is this seat taken?"

"Nope," Dan says, and Joey sits, with Shane beside him.

"I'm Mark," Mark tells them, rather coyly. Almost as an after thought, he adds, "This is my friend Dan."

He's eyeing the two of them like they're pieces of meat, and Dan can't help but roll his eyes. Mark is a...special individual. He really is.

"Nice to meet you," Joey says, just as Shane leans over him to ask, "You two a thing?"

"No!" Dan says, and he glances back at Mark, who's making a face.

"I wouldn't tap that if you paid me."

"Hey! You bloody asshole. No need to be rude!"

"I'd tap that for free," Shane grins, winking at Dan. "Hit me up anytime. Lemme see your Big Ben, baby."

Dan laughs at how absurd that is, and Shane smiles at him and turns to say something to Joey. Dan's not entirely sure how serious Shane is, but he appreciates it nonetheless. It's good for his self esteem, and he could use a good laugh.

Mark's swinging around on his bar stool, clearly bored now that no one's talking to him. He turns to face away from the bar, surveying the crowd, looking for someone to play with. He's drinking a beer now - the whiskey had gotten old fast. His legs fall open in an attempt to be salacious, and he puts on his best sexy face. It'd be comical if he wasn't actually trying.

Dan watches him warily. He leans into Mark. "Whatcha you doing there, buddy?"

"Trying to attract males," Mark whispers back.

"You got something you need to tell me, Mark?" Dan teases. In the two years they've known each other, neither of them have dated, and sexuality was never so much as mentioned. They were fine with being beer drinking, video game playing bachelors. Dan didn't think about it too much, never cared enough to, and frankly, he still doesn't. He's confident in his own sexuality, and Mark's was never a concern of his. It's just a slight surprise.

Then Mark ruins it by saying, "I'm not gay, I'm just bored," and he blows a kiss at a bashful looking blonde guy who keeps glancing over.

Mark beckons the guy over, and Dan raises an eyebrow when he actually approaches and takes a seat.

Dan turns away. He'll leave Mark to his business.

Shane starts asking about what England's like, and they talk for a while about travels and food and culture. Shane's funny as hell, if a little obnoxious, and he's got interesting stories. Joey chimes in occasionally during Shane's tales, and shushes him when he interrupts with a joke during Dan's. Dan grows quite fond of the two of them in a rather short time.

"Alright, back into the fray," Joey says eventually, ruffling his own hair. He stands and gives Dan, Mark, and Mark's friend polite smiles. "Nice meeting you all!" To Shane, he says, "Don't wait up for me, 'kay?"

"Go get laid, babe!" Shane yells, and Joey's waving and then he's gone. Shane directs his attention to Dan again. "You were saying?"

"You two aren't dating?" Dan asks, surprised.

Shane snorts. "Nope. We're best friends and business partners. Nothing else."

"Oh," Dan says, awkwardly. "Sorry, yeah, anyway-"

They talk some more - by now, they've moved onto college stories.

"Didn't go to college," Shane says, waving a hand dismissively. "Not important."

Dan quirks an inquisitive brow. "Where do you work?"

"Well, me and Joey do shit on the internet. I make up stupid, funny shit, he films me being an idiot, we make bank and get to have fun."

"That sounds fun."

"Yeah. What do you do? You look like the artsy type."

Dan smiles wryly. "I'm in law school."

"Ew!" Shane says. "Fucking hell, you're gonna be a lawyer? You know how boring that shit is? Bad life decision right there, man, _bad_ life decision."

Dan chuckles awkwardly. Shane doesn't mean any harm, but he's making Dan feel bad again. "Yeah, I know. But it'll be good money, right?"

"Fuck the money! If you're bored off your ass, the money doesn't make it better!"

"Fuck," Dan says, throwing back the rest of his fourth beer. He's definitely feeling the effects by now, and he's grateful because it's mostly numbing his emotions.

Mark's in the same state, a glance back informs him. He's been talking the ear off his little blonde companion.

The guy makes eye contact with Dan over Mark's shoulder, and Mark must see, because he turns around instantly, and Dan's eyes are suddenly assaulted with Mark's giant face right in front of his own. "Hey, Dan!" he yells. "How you doing, man?"

"Good," Dan tells him simply, and it's mostly an honest answer.

"Cool! Listen, I'll be back. I'm gonna-" Mark stops mid-sentence to throw back the remainder of his drink, with appears to be hennessy on the rocks - Dan's not sure. He slams it down on the table and finishes, loudly: "-dance!" He grabs the guy who bought him the drink by the hand and pulls him to his feet. "With this fine young gentleman! Away we go!"

Dan and Shane are left sat at the bar, watching as Mark plows through the crowd, his boy toy in tow. Dan can barely see, since people are in the way, but he can assume Mark's doing that frantic flailing thing he calls dancing, and the looks on the faces of everyone around Mark support his hypothesis.

Dan can't talk shit, he can't dance either, but at least he doesn't try. If you suck at something, and you have no reason to improve, you shouldn't bother. Mark agrees with that ideology to some degree, but dancing's a different story. If he hears something that mildly resembles a beat, he'll shake his ass - if only to make whoever he's around uncomfortable.

"You said you guys are straight?" Shane asks, eyebrows raised. He's trying to see Mark, too. A couple of guys leave the dance floor, and for a brief second, Dan has a clear view of his American buddy, who's currently utilizing the fact that he can twerk.

"By definition, I guess," Dan shrugs. "Sort of. Kind of. See, labels are overrated. I can't speak for Mark, I'm pretty sure he'll fuck anything that consents if he's in the mood, but personally, I don't care about gender. Hot is hot, and nice is nice, you know?" Dan shrugs again, and this time the action causes his drink to slosh over the edge of the cup. Dan stares at the spill on the table top, but doesn't make a move to clean it up. He's seemingly lost in thought.

"Honey, you sound bi as hell to me," Shane laughs. "From a bi to a bi: you bi."

"No, but dicks," Dan says eloquently.

"Are fantastic?" Shane prompts.

"No, no, I mean, like - they're an issue. I've never seen one in real life, you know? I've seen porn, but it's different. And I worry if I actually saw one in real life, I'd freak out."

"You shouldn't be that freaked out by dicks," Shane says slowly, staring at Dan's crotch.

Dan covers it with his hands and shakes his head. "No, no, I mean - I dunno, my own's different. My own dick wouldn't potentially be entering any part of my body, now, would it?"

Shane fixes him with a hard stare. "Listen, Dan. Have you seen a vagina in real life?"

"Yes." Dan's had sex seven times in his life. He's pretty proud of that, even though maybe he shouldn't be. He thinks seven's a good number.

"Did you puke?"

Dan frowns. "No."

"Well, if you got all up in a vagina a-ok, a dick will be fine. Trust me."

"Okay," Dan says. He doesn't know what else to say. Maybe he should start looking for a relationship - but that's something to debate once he's sober, he decides.

Their conversation goes on for a while longer, the topics trivial. But then Shane says, "Yeah, Joey and I are going on vacation in two weeks. I'm super excited."

"Oh? Where are you going?"

"Italy. Mostly for the food. Joey's going for the architecture and scenery and stuff. He's the arsty one, I just like stuffing my face." Shane laughs and swirls his drink around, staring down at it. He's had it for over an hour; all the ice has melted by now.

"You guys can afford that? Just from making videos?"

"Well, we got a deal because of the website we're doing it through. Twenty percent cheaper than if we went any other way."

This gets Dan's attention. He's a thrifty son of a bitch; if it's a bargain, he's interested. "Why's it cheaper?"

"It's through an exchanging houses program. We're switching with this nice couple for a month. The website has some kind of deal with Southwest Airlines, so you get a discount on the flight. Pretty cool if you're a cheap son of a bitch like me."

Dan leans in, conspiratorial. "So what's the website?"

* * *

 Dan gets Shane's number and agrees to keep in touch. He could use a good and fresh friendship, so he's grateful. He tells him goodbye around two, and by the time he actually gets home, it's three thirty, because he can't fucking find Mark.

He ends up finding him outside, making out with his blonde friend against the wall. Dan should be alarmed at these developments, but he's too drunk to pay attention, or he just can't be bothered to care. He's not sure which. Maybe Mark's just a slutty drunk, maybe he's just not straight. Either way, Dan could care less; he's dead fucking tired, and he wants to get home to his bed as soon as possible.

Mark sloppily writes his number on the guy's arm in pen, then tells him, "Thanks for the beej, dude!" and let's Dan pull him away.

"We have a lot to talk about tomorrow," Dan says, but he's more concerned with how they're going to get home. He's mostly sober by now, he'd stopped drinking hours ago, but he knows he still shouldn't drive. But they don't have much of a choice, so he tells himself he'll go very slow, and he vows never to drive under the influence again.

Mark, of course, starts ranting instantly. "Tits are nice, but I think I can get used to abs," he slurs thoughtfully. "Dudes are okay, you know. I always thought dudes were hot, because some of them are hot, very hot, I just thought, like. Dicks, you know? Dicks are an issue. They're just fucking gross. But, like, I dunno, realistically, vaginas are pretty gross, too. So are mouths, for that matter. You know how many fuckin' germs we have in our spit? Fucking disgusting."

They reach their parking spot, and Dan rolls his eyes as his shitfaced roommate tries in vain to open the locked door, not realizing it's locked. Dan clicks the button on his keys, and Mark's able to yank the door open. "Oh," he says. He clambers in.

Dan goes around to the other side and gets in. He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his head clear.

Mark's still rambling as Dan starts up the car. "I dunno if I wanna do, like, anal or anything, like even if a girl asked me to do anal, I dunno if I'd be into that."

"Mark," Dan says quietly.

Mark goes on. "Like, an ass is an ass, that's where shit comes out of, you know? I don't want my dick in that, and I sure as hell don't want a dick up my poop shoot, you know?"

"Mark!"

Mark looks at him.

Dan takes a deep breath. "I don't care about who you want in your bed, I care about sleeping in mine. Please shut up so I don't crash."

Surprisingly, Mark does, and although it takes ridiculously long, they manage get home safety. Once they pull into their parking space, Dan shuts off the car and breathes out a sigh of relief.

Then he looks at Mark, curious. "Did that guy really blow you?"

Mark shakes his head. "He tried, but I was too drunk to get it up. Bummer, too. I could use a nice beej right about now."

"Didn't need details, just a yes or no answer," Dan says, shaking his head. "Listen, we've got a lot to talk about tomorrow. Let's get to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that! I'm open to suggestions (I have the basic plot outline for the rest of this fic, but the details need to be filled in.) So tell me what you want to see in the future! Next chapter's going to introduce Jack, Phil, Felix, and Marzia. Yay. So yeah. Thanks for reading. I look forward to continuing this. The rating's going to change eventually, by the way. I'm a big fan of smut, it's just not time yet, and I wanna take this slow.


	2. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the other main characters, such as Jack, who, in this fic, is ambitious, boisterous, and dense, but lovable; Felix, who's...himself; and Marzia, who's the only non-ridiculous character in this whole damn story. Phil doesn't come in yet. Well, I mean, he's not formally introduced, at least. We also see Jack and Dan meeting through the website, and working out the details for their house swap...and stuff. Basically boring exposition stuff. The fun stuff comes next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reception! It's much appreciated :) Also do you know how many fucking times I typed Feliz instead of Felix? Felix Navidad. 
> 
> K, so listen - I decided to try and incorporate actual British terminology into this chapter, seeing as half this fic takes place in London. I usually half-ass research when I write things, so I decided to actually try while researching things in this fic. Unfortunately, I'm a dumb American who doesn't talk to enough British people to know if certain words are the same in the US versus in the UK, or Americans have certain stores or restaurants that England doesn't, etc. So if shit's off, and you're a Brit who's offended by or shaking their head at my stupidity, I apologize. 
> 
> Also, in all honesty, I don't watch too much Jack, like I've seen maybe forty videos compared to the two hundred I've seen of Mark's and the six hundred I've seen of Pewd's (I've been subscribed for a long time...unfortunately) so I hope I've got his characterization and voice down. It's an AU, so obviously I can change some things, but I'm aiming at keeping everyone in character. Hope no one has any complaints.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy, and be sure to comment with anything you wanna see in future chapters! Seriously, I'm totally wingin' it with this thing, hardly anything's planned, so suggestions are welcome!

Jack has neighbours that fuck a lot.

He moved here three months back, and every single day since then, the elusive couple next door get it on. He doesn't know how they do it. It's honestly pretty fucking impressive.

They seem to like to fuck most when he's off work, too, because every time he gets home after a long day, they're at it. Like right now, for instance.

Because of this, he's rarely at home. He's taken to climbing up the fire escape and hanging out in his friend Felix's flat, just above his. Felix was the reason he moved to London in the first place; a fellow musician, they'd met at Reading Festival four years ago, stayed in contact since, and now, Jack's just recently moved out to London so they can really focus on their music careers. Felix was Swedish, but him and his Italian girlfriend had chosen to move to England as a middle ground between their two home countries. Jack thinks it's cool, because he considers the three of them to be a family of sorts, and he likes the sitcom aspect of a Swede, an Italian, and an Irishman living in London together. There's something unique and almost comical about it.

Anyway, Felix often leaves his window unlocked so Jack can slip in as he pleases. Jack knocks on it, just so he doesn't scare them, before sliding it open and stepping inside.

Felix and his girlfriend, Marzia, are seated on their respective armchairs. Marzia's curled up with a coffee cup and a book, and Felix is on his laptop with his feet kicked up on the coffee table.

"Hey," they say at the same time, without looking up. They're weirdly in sync like that. It used to be creepy, but now Jack appreciates, and maybe envies, that they're close enough for that.

Felix looks up at him. "Your horny neighbours are at it again?"

"Yep," Jack says, sitting heavily on the couch opposite of Felix and Marzia's chairs. "The guy must have a life supply of Viagra or somethin', 'cause goddamn, he never runs outta stamina. It's insane! He should see a doctor!"

"That sounds more like a gift than a medical condition to me," Felix says, frowning down at whatever he's looking at. "Imagine being able to fuck all day and all night. Sounds like the fucking dream."

"Felix," Marzia says. She still hasn't looked up from her book. She's always so calm and collected - Jack truly admires her for that.

"Sorry," Felix says, and she's probably the only person he's ever apologized to and actually meant it. He looks up at Jack. "So how's it going, bro? Aside from your superfreak neighbours."

"I hate my job," Jack says, trying to melt into their stiff couch. His shoulders literally ache, and the couch isn't much help. "My coworkers always stuff my locker full of chips, and my boss is a fockin' dick."

"Come work at the shoe store with me," Felix says with a wry grin. "It's good money considering you don't have to do much work, and while you do get a lot of old ladies bitching at you, you mostly just get to sit there, doing nothing except thinking about how miserable your life is, which is pretty fucking great."

"Or," Marzia says in that chipper voice of hers, "you can go to cosmetology school and work at the salon with me."

"I'd suck at both yer jobs. I mean, I think I would do terrible with any, like, costumer service stuff. Shovin' a burger in a bag and handin' it ta someone isn't hard. Havin' ta maintain a conversation with a costumer and help them find what they need? Forget it."

"You're fuckin' weird, dude," Felix says. "I mean, there ain't nothin' wrong with working in fast food, but if I'm getting paid more for doing less work? I'd look for a different job. I'm just saying."

Jack shrugs, reaches for the TV remote that's set on the coffee table, near Felix's feet. He presses the power button, waits for it to boot up, and starts flipping through channels.

Today's Monday, so Jack (who works nights) got off two hours ago, Marzia's shift is from 12 to 6, and Felix works nights as well. Marzia goes to get ready at some point; Jack barely notices, too invested in a documentary about polar bears.

Jack looks up when a shoe hits him in the arm. Felix is glaring at him. "I said your name twenty times, dude, what the fuck?"

"Sorry." Jack turns back to his show.

"No, hey, listen. Once Marzia's gone, I'm gonna get some sleep before work, so you're gonna have to leave."

Jack gives Felix an annoyed look. "I don't get why ya always gotta kick me out when ya take a nap. Like, I'm not gonna hurt ya or somethin' while yer asleep."

"I trust you as far as I can throw you, bro. Which isn't far, 'cause you're pretty much just a sack of potatoes."

"I take offense to that. Twice. I'm double offended by that, because you don't trust me, and because you've resorted to potato jokes again."

"Cool. Now get out of my house."

"Prick," Jack grumbles as he stands, but it's all in good fun.

Felix must hear him, because he lovingly responds, "Twat."

"Felix! Bed time!" Marzia shouts from the other room. "You're supposed to go to sleep at eleven, remember? It's eleven seventeen!"

"It's like I'm ten," Felix complains, but he's shutting his laptop nonetheless. "She's like my mom. It's ridiculous. Also, get the fuck out of my house."

"Yep. Tell Marzia I said bye."

"Yup," Felix says, waving his hand dismissively. "Bye, Jack, ya Irish piece of shit."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Bye, Felix, ya Swedish motherfucker."

Felix blows a kiss. Jack catches it with a happy smile, then scowls and pretends to throw it to the ground and stomp on it angrily. He looks up again, and Felix is laughing. He flips him off, then leaves the room.

Jack grins to himself for a moment, then climbs out of the window and ascends the stairs until he reaches the window that leads into his own abode. He climbs in, falls onto the soft and comfortable couch awaiting him, and lets out a big sigh. Felix and Marzia's couches are more for looks than comfort, but Jack's are a pretty pale green with a velvety fabric to match that suck you in when you sit.

He takes a seat and puts something on TV. He could be productive, but fuck that, right? He's overworked; he deserves a day to do absolutely nothing. And he does just that for a good four episodes of Doctor Who. He doesn't even like Doctor Who.

Around six pm, Jack hears muffled screaming coming from somewhere. Fortunately, it's different screaming than what he hears out of his damn horndog neighbours, who seem to have settled down for the day. He frowns and listens closer. It sounds like someone's yelling his name.

He stands, slowly, and creeps towards his back door. He picks up a serrated knife as he passes the kitchen island, and holds it tight as he approaches his patio - just in case. He doesn't mind being over-dramatic if it'll potentially save his life.

As he gets closer, the voice of the person yelling becomes clearer, and Jack realizes it's just Felix. He sets the knife on the arm of his couch and steps outside.

Felix is laying flat on his own patio, peeking down at Jack through the metal bars. He's got his entire face squished up against them. It looks fucking ridiculous. "Hey, Jack," he whispers in that weird ass voice of his. "How ya doin', Jack?"

"Why're ya yellin' fer me?" Jack asks, tilting to head up to be able to look at Felix. This is by far one of the most physically uncomfortable conversations he's ever had.

Felix sticks his tongue through the bars, which Jack finds fucking disgusting. Thankfully, Felix retracts his tongue after he realizes that, like, ew. "Listen, buddy. We need to talk. It's important."

Jack reaches up and jumps, so he can poke Felix in the nose. Felix recoils as soon as Jack's finger makes contact.

"Hey! Don't fuckin' do that!"

"You wanna have a conversation? Knock on my front door like a normal fuckin' human being."

"Jack, please," Felix says, not bothering with trying to be genuine. That's one thing Jack respects about Felix; he's never fake, always very self aware and unapologetic. It's gotten him into some trouble, but overall, Jack considers it a positive trait.

Jack says, "Ugh. Let me come up there."

"Yay!" Felix says, jumping to his feet and literally dashing back into his flat.

Jack goes back inside, leaves out the window, and take the stairs by two until he finds himself at Felix's window. It's already open, so he climbs in.

Marzia's not in the room, she's long since left for work, but Felix is. He's standing right in the middle of the living room, hopping from foot to foot like he's so excited he can't stand still.

"What the hell's up with you?" Jack asks.

Felix's grinning like a madman. "I just got a call from Capitol Records. They're interested, Jack, they want us to fly out there and talk to them!"

Jack gapes. They'd been working on this music shit for three years, and already, they've got a major label interested in them? It's a dream come true.

"We're gonna go out there? Out there meaning America?"

"Yeah! Specifically Hollywood. Here's the problem, though; I booked an appointment with the chairman for Tuesday the, um, 5th, I think. But Marzia's grandpa's funeral is on Wednesday, so I'm gonna have to be in Italy."

"Yer sayin' I've gotta go over there by myself?"

"Both of us don't have to go, it's not gonna be a problem. You just smile, look pretty, and play them our demos. How many people does it take to do that? Should only take one. You'll be fine."

Jack starts pacing; he can't help it, he's anxious. "So in two weeks I gotta fly out there to America all by myself and talk to the head of a record label? Seriously?"

"Yeah! Isn't it fucking great? I wish I could go, but prior commitments, you know?"

Jack takes a seat on Felix's couch and runs a hand through his hair. "So I've gotta fly out there? When do I head out?"

"Whenever you want. Here's the deal, though - we've gotta get you out there by ourselves. They're not paying, for legal reasons, I don't know, I didn't ask, but they won't pay for the flight."

"That's bullshit! Why the hell wouldn't they? God knows they can afford it!"

"I dunno, didn't ask, but listen. Here's the deal. We gotta get you out there ourselves. And I know this website, not sure exactly how it works, but it offers a discount on the flight. Basically, it's a house swapping program. You live in their place, they live in yours. You can go on and find a match."

Jack purses his lips. "Is that safe?"

"Probably," Felix says. He grabs his laptop and flops down on the couch next to Jack. He pulls up Google, and then his fingers fly over the keyboard. "Think this is what it's called."

The writing on Felix's laptop is in Swedish, so Jack can't read anything, but when Felix clicks on one of the links and pictures of houses pop up, he can assume this is the site.

"I'll translate," Felix says, when he sees that Jack's brow is furrowed. "Okay, here's the little, uh, search options, or whatever. Hmm. Location... southern California. Uh. Apartment or house?"

"Doesn't matter," Jack shrugs.

"Okay, so both. Okay. Do you mind having a roommate?"

"As long as they're not a serial killer, no."

"Okay." Felix clicks a box, then clicks what Jack assumes is the search button. The page reloads, and then they're looking at sixty-four pages of suggestions. "Oh shit," Felix says. "This reminds me of that time I tried to get laid on Craigslist."

Knowing Felix, that's probably a joke...hopefully. Jack shakes his head and squints at the screen, scanning the options.

Felix points at one. "Alice sounds good! She's fifty-two and works as a hotel maid, I bet she'll keep your house all clean."

"It says she has cats. I'm allergic."

"Son of a bitch. I got all excited to meet her, too. I love old ladies. Okay, how about Tom here? He's a biker who wants to spend his time out here exploring. He won't even be in your place, how about that?"

"Bikers scare me."

"You won't even have to meet the guy."

"I dunno, I just don't like it." He catches sight of a guy in a black sweater and points. "How about him? Click on him."

Felix does, and the guy's information pops up.

Jack's already reading silently, but Felix decides to narrate out loud. "Dan from California. 20 years old. Says he's from the UK and left to go to school in the states, and now he wants to get home, but he hasn't been able to for financial reasons. Has a roommate who likes beer and video games. Hey, you'd probably get along with him. What do you think?"

Jack stares at the display picture. There's a picture of Dan (Jack knows because he's captioned the photo), who looks like he listened to My Chemical Romance as a kid and never bothered to change his hairstyle. Another picture shows his roommate, hanging upside down from monkey bars. Jack tilts his head to try to see the guy right side up. He can see messy black hair, crinkled brown eyes, a Batman shirt, and a perfect smile.

There's also pictures of their apartment building. It doesn't appear to be that much different than Jack's flat.

"That's the one," he says. He points to a blue button. "What's this say?"

"Says 'I'm interested'."

"Yep." He pushes Felix's hand aside so he can click the button all by himself. A forum pops up for him to fill out.

"I hate paperwork," Felix says with a groan, typing Jack's full name into the name box. "I fucking hate it."

"Then lemme do it. It's about me anyway."

Jack pulls the laptop from Felix's lap onto his own. He points at words, which Felix dutifully translates. It asks his email, his date of birth, where he lives, how long he's looking to switch for, his reasoning, if he has roommates, any family that lives with him, or pets, etc. At the end, it asks if he has anything else to say.

"Say something really fucked up," Felix says. "Like, tell him the previous occupant of your apartment died doing a David Carradine and choked themselves to death while masturbating. Tell him sometimes you hear ghostly fapping and moaning while you sleep."

"Shut the hell up," Jack says, laughing. Instead, he types, **Hi! My name's Jack, you already know that but I thought it'd be polite to say it again. Just wanted to let you know I'm hoeful about this exchange, I think if you agree to swap for me it'll be very nice for us both. Thank you, have a great day!**

"Fucking weak, dude," Felix says.

"Shut up! It's called manners, Felix, you should fucking learn some."

Instead of replying, Felix points to the laptop. "Instead of hopeful, you put hoeful."

"Oh, shit," Jack says, hurrying to fix it. Felix laughs.

Forcing himself not to hesitate, because if he does this will never get done, Jack presses what he assumes is the 'submit' button. The screen says a bunch of gibberish, and Felix translates it for him. "'Congrats! You successfully submitted your HouseSwap™ application. Check back regularly to see if your application has been accepted. You'll be redirected back to the home page in 3...2...1...'"

Then they're back on that first page. Jack lets out a relieved sigh, sketching his arms out and arching his back. "Jaysus, I'm fuckin' stiff."

"Don't stretch yet, dude; we're not done. We gotta do at least four more of these."

"Why bother? I've got a good feeling about the one we just did."

"No, no, no, Jack, I could give a fuck about your good feeling. That emo asshole doesn't respond, we need to have more options, and we're not doing shit last minute. We're doing five, okay?"

Jack groans. "Fuck. Fine."

* * *

 

Three hours later, Jack's gone home. Mostly because Marzia showed up with takeout, and after eating way too much food that he didn't even pay for, he showed himself out via the fire escape. Maybe one day he'll take the elevator like a normal person.

He gets his own laptop from its spot on the couch and heads over to the kitchen island with it, booting it up as he make himself a drink.

He pulls up a YouTube video of someone making a cocktail and tries his best to replicate it.

By the time he's finished, he's sat on his couch, nursing the drink and checking his email. He's excited to see two emails in his inbox. One from a guy named Pete that he'd emailed, and the other from Dan.

Jack decides to save the best for last and looks at the Pete one.

**Hey, I need to get out there for three days tops for a funeral. The funeral's on the 8th. Does this work for you?**

**Unfortunately, no it doesn't,** Jack writes back. **I've got a business meeting on the 5th that I've got to be out in time for. Sorry this won't work out, best of luck to you, and thank you for your time!**

He sends that, then excitedly clicks on Dan's response. He's got a good feeling about it.

Dan apparently isn't a fan of his shift key. **hey,** he writes, **so i intend to stay out there for a full week. does that work for you? i don't care when, although i know you have to be out here on the 5th, so let's say: 3rd through 9th? does that sound good? also my roommate wants to know if you're a serial killer. he says that if you're a cannibal, you shouldn't eat him, because he eats a lot of spicy food, so he'll give probably you heartburn.**

Jack smiles. He knew this was gonna work out. He loves when things go smoothly. **Hi!** he responds. **Yeah, 3rd through 9th sounds good!! I'll call my boss now to make sure that's fine, and I'll get back to you if there's a change of plans. And tell your roommate that no, I'm not a serial killer or a cannibal, and I have no interest in eating him.**

Jack calls Felix, because he's climbed those damn stairs far too many times today. He picks up on the third ring. "Felix is not here at the moment. Please leave a message on the beep. Beep."

"Dude, Dan got back to me. The one I had a good feelin' about? I've gotta call my boss, but I really think this is gonna work out, Felix!"

"Oh shit, really? That's fucking great! Holy shit, you gotta take lots of pictures when you get out there, do a lot of touristy shit. See if the roommate guy will show you around. Bring Marzia back a magnet! Like, as a souvenir? She loves shit like that. Oh, and bring me something weird and super American, okay? Like American flag panties that vibrate. Or a patriotic dildo. Or something. Okay?"

"I will!" Jack's never been to America before. He's never even left the UK. He's suddenly very, very excited. Not really nervous, just very psyched.

He's surprised when an email notification pops up, since it's getting late, but then he remembers time difference is totally a thing.

"He just emailed me again," he tells Felix, clicking on the link. It reads, **hey, do you mind if we skype real fast? my roommate's a little paranoid you're gonna murder him, he wants to make sure you don't look like a murderer or something. my skype is @danhowell69. don't laugh at me.**

"Oh, shit," Jack says.

"What?"

"He wants me to Skype him, so he can make sure I'm a normal person. You think I should?"

"Yeah? Of course you should. You think they want to fly some guy they've never even met to their home? Fucking Skype them, bro. Hey, you know, you should get up here. Me and Marzia will assure them you're not Buffalo Bill."

Jack sighs. He doesn't want to get up, let alone walk upstairs for the third time today, but he respects Dan and his roommate taking precautions, so he will. He's mildly worried he's gonna see a dick, but he's hopeful this is legit and serious. "Okay, I'm hanging up. Be there in a sec."

"Cool," Felix says, and Jack hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket.

 **That's fine,** he tells Dan. **Give me a second.**

He closes his laptop, tucks it under his arm, and goes to his front door. He needs both hands to climb the fire escape, and he's not risking dropping his laptop, so elevator it is.

When he knocks on Felix and Marzia's front door, Felix yells, "Coming, you Irish sack of shitatoes!" and Jack wonders why they're best frends.

Then Felix opens the door, in his boxers, bunny slippers, a silk leopard print robe, and a face mask on, and Jack remembers. "Wow," Felix deadpans as Jack steps instead. "You remembered we own a front door. I'm so proud of you."

"What is with you and wearing yer girlfriend's clothes, Felix?" Jack jokes, pulling on the sleeve of Felix's too-tight robe. It clearly belongs to someone much smaller than him. "Is it a kink or something?"

"You're just jealous because me and Marzia are close enough to share clothes, but you can't even get a girl out of hers!"

Jack shrugs and sits on the couch, criss-cross apple sauce. "It's kinda hard to get a girl naked if yer not tryin' to."

Felix scowls and sits next to him. He looks more horrifying than normal with that damn face mask on. "Open up Skype, you fuckin' asshole."

Jack smiles, proud of himself for getting Felix to run out of comebacks, and opens his computer. He refreshes the page. Dan had responded, **k**.

"What a poet," Felix says. Jack ignores him and boots up Skype. He searches Dan's name, and adds him. His name on there is currently 'choke me daddy'. Jack feels better already. He checks his own name, hoping he hadn't recently changed it to anything bad. Thankfully, it's just his name. Boring, but at least it's not humiliating.

He messages Dan. **K, here I am.**

Dan responds in seconds with a request to video call.

Jack looks at Felix. Felix nods solemnly. Jack inhales deeply, then presses 'accept'.

On screen are the two guys from the pictures - Dan and his roommate. The lighting's shitty, wherever they're at is dark, but Jack can see they're on a bed. Dan's in a Kanye West shirt, and his roommate looks annoyed as hell.

"Hello!" Dan says, waving. "Hi! You must be Jack. Pleasure to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you, too," Jack says politely. He hates first meetings. They're so awkward. He just wants to get down to business.

Felix peeks his head into the frame, and Dan jumps. His roommate squints suspiciously.

"Wot the hell is that," Dan says in horror, and Jack realizes he's got a heavy British accent. He wasn't even aware the guy was British, although he supposes he should've known because his bio on the site heavily implied he was from Europe. Sometimes he's dense, he'll admit that.

Jack laughs. "I'm at my neighbour's house. He's a close friend. This is Felix."

"What's up?" Felix asks, sounding uninterested.

Dan's roommate giggles, and Jack's taken aback by how deep his voice is. He didn't know manly giggles existed, but that sounded like one to him. "What the fuck is wrong with his face?"

Dan shoves him. "Don't be rude, ya twat."

"It's a face mask," Felix says. "Don't worry, I'm normally pretty hot."

"Oh," the roommate says.

"Oh, yeah," Dan says. "This is my roommate, Mark. He's really hungover."

"That I am," Mark agrees. He runs a hand through his hair and tossles it. "That I am."

There's an awkward silence, for about five seconds, before Felix gets up and goes into the kitchen. "You hungry, bro?"

"No, I'm good," Jack responds. He looks down at his computer. "So, uh, are yeh convinced I'm not a serial killer yet?"

"I dunno, I've only ever seen that type of facial hair on mass murderers," Mark says.

Jack self-consciously touches at his beard.

"Kidding," Mark says. He rubs at his eyes. "Yeah, you look normal to me. I'm goin' to bed, g'night."

With that, he's gone.

Dan coughs, awkward. "Sorry about him. We've had a weird day. Uh, do you want to discuss details? Or anything?

"Sure. So you said, uh, the third through ninth?"

"Yup. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah, yeah, again, I'll call my boss ta check, but fer now, that sounds perfect. Today's the, uh-"

"Twenty ninth!" Felix yells helpfully.

"Yes, thank you, Felix."

"Uh, do you mind exchanging numbers with me?" Dan asks, holding up his phone and waving it. "It's an easier method of communication, if we want to go over stuff-"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Jack tells Dan his number, which Dan punches into his phone. Jack's pocket vibrates, and Jack says, "Yep, got it."

"Alright. Uh." Dan looks uncomfortable. "Well, you seem perfectly fine to me. My roommate is just really skeptical about stuff like this. He insisted on a video call. I hope it wasn't a bother."

"No, not a bother at all. Totally understandable." Jack glances at Felix, who's eating a yogurt and laughing at him for being trying to be polite and coming off as so awkward. "Yeah, hey, I better go. My neighbour leaves for work in an hour, so I should get out of his house and get some sleep. I'll text ya if any questions or issues come up."

"Yeah. Nice to meet you."

"You too! Thanks." Jack ends the call first, then looks at Felix, who starts cackling like an asthmatic donkey. "Fuck, that was uncomfortable."

"That was the most awkward thing I've ever fucking seen. Oh my God. I was cringing so hard for you, man."

"Wow, thanks, bro."

"That was seriously so bad." Sobering up, he comes to sit next to Jack. He's still got the fucking mask on. "Hey, so is this okay? Like, this whole deal? It was kinda sudden, I hope you're cool with it."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Excited, if anything. It's like we finally found the key to a door we could never unlock."

"That was beautifully poetic, Jackaboy, thanks for that."

"Uh huh." Jack stands. "I'm gonna leave again. For the third time. Goodbye again, Felix."

"Goodbye again, Jack." Felix salutes him.

Jack salutes him back. He slowly walks to the front door, opens it with his free hand, and just as he's about to leave, he darts to the right, grabs Felix's half eaten yogurt off the counter, spoon and all, and takes off running, without even bothering to shut the door behind him.

"Jack, ya piece of shit!" Felix yells, laughing, but he doesn't bother to follow as Jack takes off like a bat out of hell down the hallway.

Jack eats the yogurt as he rides down to his floor in the elevator, feeling a little too smug. It's chocolate cake flavor, and only 150 calories!

"Nice," he says to himself.


End file.
